Last week I wrote something called "Recycling Ways of Letting Go." In absence of actually being ready to "let go," I couldn't bring myself to post it. (Um, yes there are some things that even I don't feel comfortable prematurely exposing.) So I stepped back and prepared to practice the proverbial art of letting go. Normally, when I'm in letting-go mode I hold my head up high and march forward without looking back. Forward I find distractions to lift my discomfort and divert my attention. Eventually, the sadness fades without me even feeling the sadness at all. This method has gotten me by for years.

My method didn't feel quite right last week. If I distract myself from my feelings, then I appear invulnerable and possessing some abnormal strength. Several people have said it comes off like I never really cared about the person, place or thing I'm letting go because I'm so quickly on to the next one: the next city, the next assignment, the next relationship, and so on. It's part my "quick start" nature which allows me to create heightened excitement around something new and different. In general, quick starts have an easier time letting go.




But this quick start (eh, hem, moi) is practicing leading by example. In this case, the example being that it is okay to be sad or upset or disappointed. Sometimes you don't get what you want even if you are normally really, really, really good and doing so. It's okay to need a little time to process the word "no." During my processing time (one week that felt ten million years long), it occurred to me that the whole term "letting go" annoys me. How long do we have to let go before we really just need to get over it? The whole saying "let go" sounds like something really hard and awful that requires divine strength and intricate networks of support. I was over letting go.

Later in the week, I let go of "let go."  Those two stupid words to be forever replaced with "creating space." After all, moving away from one thing allows space in your life (and in your brain) for something else. Friday evening my on-again, off-again object of adoration invited me out, and while it could have resulted in a much more stimulating way to fill my new found space, I kind of liked the space. Just for a little while - even just one night - I wanted the space to stay. 

Saturday, with the space unoccupied and well-rested, the universe responded by providing me with something awesome that I might not have been prepared to receive if I hadn't the space. With the space, I got the awesome. Not the potential-to-create-orgasm kind of awesome, but awesome nonetheless.

Emma Dinzebach